Cia Rose Series Box Set

by Rick Wood

  Dalton nodded, removed his bag, and began further checks for nearby creatures.

  A large burden fell away in a grand sigh. He hadn’t realised how much tension he’d been carrying over this, and it felt like a relief to finally know he would soon have the answers.

  Finally, he could put those memories to rest, and he could just be happy, with Cia, with Boy, with their new life.

  Our new life.

  If he had only known at the time how destructive those answers would be to that new life – he would have never returned to the Sanctity…

  Chapter Four

  Boy’s mind was what Cia loved most about him – how he could gather all the odd bits of information others would most likely discard, and recall them perfectly.

  She watched in awe as he ran up to another tree, announcing it this was a wych elm.

  “Broadleaf,” Boy muttered, inspecting closely. “Toothed leaves, larger than other elms. An asymmetrical base.”

  Dalton had found a book on trees when they looted a book store a month or so ago and given it to Boy. Boy was now able to identify the trees and recite facts about them with an accuracy Cia assumed was correct – not that she’d know.

  Boy rushed to another tree with acorns scattered around its base and pulled a branch down to look at the leaves. He spoke to himself as he studied them: “lobed, these leaves are lobed, rounded or pointed.”

  He reached his hand out and touched the bark of the tree trunk.

  “Small. Scaly. Acorns. This is an oak tree.”

  It was amazing, the things Boy’s brain could do.

  She wondered if it was actually the rest of the world that had the problem, not Boy; especially when Boy’s mental abilities were so advanced.

  She meandered over to Dalton, who knelt over a tree trunk that had collapsed across their path. He was using his knife to carve something out of it.

  “What is that?” Cia asked, looking at its curved shape and wondering what he was up to.

  Dalton scraped a few more carvings then lifted an arched piece of wood in the air.

  “It is – or, at least, it will be – a bow.”

  “A bow?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you can just make that out of a tree?”

  “Not just any tree. Pine and willow, for example, would be awful – it’s best to use oak, like this trunk, or maple or hickory if possible. Now I just need some kind of cord.”

  “Where are you going to get that from?”

  “Don’t know. If I could find, like, an unused parachute maybe, or string from a hood. You then tie it here,” he indicated a position at the top of the arch, “and here,” he indicated a position at the base. “Then make a bunch of sharp points out of more wood for the arrows. I could do with a sander though.”

  Cia sat down next to him, lifting the arch waiting for the bow, and twisting it beneath her ogling eyes.

  “This is incredible,” she gasped. “How on earth did you do this?”

  Dalton grinned.

  “Here, let me show you have to create a bokken.”

  “A bokken?”

  “Yes, it’s like a wooden samurai sword. It’s a Japanese weapon. Not quite as effective as a blade, but hit it hard enough or create a sharp enough point, and it will do some damage.”

  Cia watched on eagerly. She’d considered herself resourceful, but she’d never seen weapons so easily crafted out of a discarded tree trunk.

  Dalton used his knife to cut out another chunk of wood from the trunk. He carved it, using his thumb to help him guess an inch for the bokken’s thickness, and one of his steps at a guess for its four-foot length. He carved out a curve that began from halfway up, and rounded harder at the end, where he also created a sharp point.

  He handed the bokken to Cia. It felt rough, splintering her, but she knew that was just because it hadn’t been sanded down yet. She turned it over, rotating it, marvelling at what he had done with so little.

  “This is incredible,” she said.

  “Well, now you know if you’re ever in a tight spot and weaponless, you can create one like that.” He clicked his fingers.

  “The handle is rough, but–”

  “It’s called a tsuka.”

  “A what?”

  “The handle of a Japanese bokken, it’s called a tsuka.”

  “A tsuka…” She mulled the word over, chewing it like a piece of gum.

  “And the tip is called a kissaki. The Japanese wouldn’t make it so sharp, but that’s where I adapted it.”

  She placed a finger on the tip and felt it prick. Withdrawing her hand she saw a small splodge of blood creeping out of the tip of her finger.

  “I told you it was sharp,” Dalton said, playfully placing his hands on his hips. “Maybe I should take it back.”

  He took the bokken and discarded it, throwing it into the bushes.

  “Aren’t we going to take it?”

  “No, I can make better than that,” Dalton said. “And we won’t have room to carry it after the Sanctity. Besides, there will be far better weapons there.”

  She looked to Boy, whose mouth was covered in berry juice.

  “How long have we got?”

  “About twelve miles.” He looked to the sky, where the sun was sinking. “It’s probably best we get there before dark.”

  Twelve miles.

  Cia’s stomach turned suddenly queasy, and she began to wonder why she’d agreed to this.

  THEN

  Chapter Five

  Despite being a grown man in a cafeteria serving fancier food than he knew what to do with, something about the environment always made Dalton feel like he was back at school. Maybe it was the rows of tables, or the plastic trays, or the process of collecting your food then searching for a table where some of your friends are. No matter how much one grows up, there’s always some kind of aversion to sitting alone in the cafeteria, as if it means you aren’t one of the cool kids.

  As it was, Dalton saw Brooklyn sat amongst another group of soldiers with a space saved for him. Dalton made his way over, wondering what it was Brooklyn had said that had made all the other guys crack up.

  “Hey man,” Brooklyn said. “How’s it going?”

  “All right,” Dalton answered. That’s the thing about living in an oversized underground bunker – there wasn’t really much to ‘tell’ about your day.

  “You out this afternoon?”

  “Nah, tomorrow. Just a perimeter walk I reckon.”

  “Ah, sweet, think I’m with you.”

  From across the cafeteria, Dalton spotted her. The same woman he’d spotted every lunch time. Pretty, long hair, slim. The kind of woman every other guy was looking at.

  Another thing about living in an oversized underground bunker – you know most people by face. And another thing – you go slightly crazy. Dalton had practically given this woman a whole backstory despite never having spoken to her. She was once a librarian, now she looked after the documents that preserve human history. She once had three cats, loved to read romantic thrillers, and had a boyfriend called Mike that used to drive a Ferrari and unfortunately perished like most did when the creatures rose. Specifically, he was killed by a Thoral, and Dalton always took a bit of satisfaction in picturing this imaginary boyfriend being ripped apart, some kind of jealousy for a fictional scenario about a woman he didn’t even know.

  “Why don’t you go talk to her?” Brooklyn asked.

  Dalton shrugged.

  “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “She could talk back,” Dalton joked between mouthfuls of bread. “Problem is, if you hit on someone here, and they reject you, then you have to look at each other every day from then on. Even worse; if they don’t reject you, but date you then dump you, then you’re stuck in here with your ex.”

  “As if that’s the reason.” Brooklyn winked.

  “Nah, it’s ’cause he’s chickenshit,” interjected Eric Piper, the resident dickhead. The kind of guy
that hung around with your social group, yet you never knew who it was in that group that actually wanted them there.

  Most people would take such a comment as a joke, a tease. But it was never like that from Piper. It was always for some menacing purpose, some underhanded remark designed to knock away at one’s self-esteem.

  “You go hit on her then,” Dalton said, trying to make a joke, trying to keep the conversation light – but he could already see Brooklyn reddening.

  Out of everyone, Brooklyn seemed to hate Piper the most.

  “Nah, not my type,” he claimed. “I can do better.”

  “Let’s see it then,” Brooklyn demanded. His joking façade had fallen off like a cheap mask, replaced with a stone-cold grimace. Dalton could already feel Brooklyn’s knee battering up and down beneath the table.

  “What?”

  “Let’s see it, Piper. This great bird you can get, this sweet piece of something nice you keep locked away that none of us ever see.”

  “Yo, mate, I was fucking teasing.”

  “Nah you weren’t, though, were you? Y’never are.”

  “I don’t see no birds going in and out of your room at night.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t go around claiming to be Billy Big-Bollocks, do I?”

  “Go fuck a duck, man.”

  Brooklyn turned to Dalton, sharing a look of can you believe this guy?

  “Brooklyn, don’t, mate,” Dalton urged him, but it faded to noise.

  “Fuck a duck?” Brooklyn repeated. “What the fuck even is that? Who says that? What does that even mean, fuck a duck? You come out with some shit.”

  “So do you.”

  “Shut up, man.”

  “Make me.”

  “Quiet your noise, mate, or I will fucking make you.”

  “Let’s see it then.”

  In a sudden movement, Brooklyn stood, batting his tray of food in Piper’s direction.

  Dalton could see the anger in Brooklyn’s body – the tight fists, shaking arms, reddening of the face. If he breathed fire, Dalton wouldn’t be surprised.

  “Come on then, dickwad. Fucking try it!”

  Dalton stood, put an arm out to Brooklyn, placing it gently on his shoulder.

  “Come on, mate,” Dalton said, quietly, calmly. “He’s not worth it.”

  Brooklyn grabbed hold of Piper’s collar, who allowed himself to be helplessly pulled across the table, destroying his lunch as he did.

  Brooklyn held his fist back, Piper squinted, and Dalton put his hand on that fist and his other hand on Brooklyn’s cheek.

  “Come on, mate; let’s go. Yeah? Let’s go see if we can get you some water or something.”

  Without a word, Brooklyn took Dalton up on his allegiance, turning and walking out like an ape with puffed cheeks.

  “Well done, Piper,” Dalton muttered over his shoulder. “You really are a dick.”

  Dalton led Brooklyn away.

  Brooklyn had a temper, that much was true. But, deep down, Dalton was still glad that, despite the situation not calling for such hostility, Brooklyn still had his back.

  NOW

  Chapter Six

  Every step Cia took toward the Sanctity was another step toward the storm that surged inside her. A heavy feeling of foreboding filled her, and she decided she did not want to go through with it.

  “I don’t know about this,” she said to Dalton. They were trudging over another muddy field as Boy ran ahead to look over all the different tree types they were approaching.

  “Don’t know about what?” Dalton asked. Cia knew he knew what she meant, and wasn’t quite sure why he was asking for clarification.

  “Going back to the Sanctity, I just…”

  She thought about how she could phrase it. How she could articulate her concerns.

  I’m worried because I’m responsible for the death of every righteous prick that lived in there while I had to struggle to survive outside it.

  I’m worried because the last time I was here I watched my father face his demise as the rest of the people fled to certain death.

  I’m worried because I think I may blurt this out to you, and that would change everything, and I don’t want things to change because I…

  What?

  I what?

  She shook her head to herself.

  “I just… I have a bad feeling about this.”

  She wasn’t lying. She did have a bad feeling about this.

  “Why don’t you and Boy wait outside for me? I can go in alone, I won’t be long.”

  It was appealing.

  God, it was appealing.

  But how could she let him go in alone?

  How could she risk losing him now that she’d found him?

  “I’m not leaving you,” she said. “I’m just…worried.”

  “What is it you’re so worried about?”

  Her hand grew suddenly warm. She looked down to find that Dalton had slid his hand into hers, his fingers interlocking with her fingers and his grip tight, like he wanted to hold on, like he needed to hold on.

  She hated it and loved it both at the same time.

  But it did something to her.

  This was nothing she’d ever done before – holding hands with a man, that is. And not only did it take her by surprise, it made her whole body shake with nerves. It was exciting yet terrifying. Perfect yet anxious. Immaculate yet filthy.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”

  She looked ahead to Boy, in his own world, speaking aloud to no one in particular as he darted from tree to tree.

  “That’s a Black Alder, and that is Ash. Ash is the third most common tree in the United Kingdom. This is another Ash. Which one is this? Ah, yes, look at its leaves, toothed, and with an asymmetrical base that tapers to a sudden point at the tip.”

  “He’s remarkable, isn’t he?” Dalton said.

  “What?” Cia knew who he was talking about, but she was still feeling flustered and wasn’t quite as astute as she normally was.

  How was it, just a simple touch of his hand did this?

  She felt silly.

  She’d fought monsters and men, she had killed and she had won more battles than luck could afford her…

  Yet, just his hand sliding into hers, and all those actions melted into the obscurity of memory, and she was a whole new person – angelic and complete.

  But it was wrong. It all felt wrong.

  Because he was standing within a mile of the truth, and it was a truth that could kill both of them.

  “Wow,” Dalton said. “How can he do that?”

  “Wh – what?”

  “Boy. Just reciting all these facts. He’s remarkable.”

  “Yes.” Cia smiled. “He is.”

  “I mean, I struggle to remember most things. Sometimes I even forget how to tie my own laces. I mean, it comes back quickly, but there’s sometimes a pause. Boy – the way he can remember all these things…”

  “He is incredible.” She turned a smile toward Dalton. “I wouldn’t have him any other way.”

  He leant in. She panicked. As if picking up on her panic, he rested his lips on her forehead, ever-so briefly, but long enough. And he whispered:

  I wouldn’t have any of this any other way.

  She lifted her head and, for the first time, their lips met. It lasted for seconds, but for Cia, it lasted a life time.

  She didn’t want it to end, but it had to.

  He pulled away and smiled and she tried not to let on how scared she was, how vulnerable he’d made her, and how much her body was shaking.

  It was more than just a kiss; it was the feeling that she was part of a family again, that she was part of a team.

  They kept walking, their fingers still interlocked. They passed a small cottage with walls stained with moss, a crumbling thatched roof, and a few smashed windows – but, despite its imperfections, Cia still couldn’t help but admire its beauty, falling in love with its daintiness, its picket fences
leading to field after field.

  “That’s a really nice cottage,” she thought aloud.

  “Really? It looks a little rundown.”

  “It’s lovely.” In a sudden change of thought, Cia turned to Dalton with sudden fright. “What about people?”

  “What do you mean, what about people?”

  “In the Sanctity – what about people? What if there are squatters, or people who have found it deserted and claimed the territory?”

  “Then we deal with them.”

  “How do we deal with them?”

  Dalton stopped, bringing Cia to a stop too. She checked on Boy, who had paused further ahead, inspecting a tree trunk.

  “Put your arms up,” Dalton instructed.

  Cia lifted her arms.

  “No, like this.” Dalton demonstrated a boxing stance.

  Cia copied.

  “Right, now imagine I go over your head once, upper cut next, what do you do?”

  “I – I don’t know.”

  “You duck duck swing.”

  “You mean, like duck duck goose but violent?”

  Cia regretted the joke as soon as she made it. Still, Dalton laughed, so it wasn’t too bad.

  “I guess. Let’s try. Duck.”

  He threw an arm toward her head and she ducked it.

  “Duck.”

  He went for an uppercut and she ducked, dodging to the side.

  “Then swing.”

  She brought her arm up and playfully knocked Dalton beneath his chin.

  “You got it,” he said.

  Strange, how she’d never thought of the need to fight before. She’d confronted evil people in this perilous world, but she’d never actually had to engage in hand-to-hand combat with them. So far, she’d been wily enough to find other ways to win.

  But if this made her feel a little safer…

  “And look, if we get separated while we’re down there, or if we get separated any other time, then that cottage will be our rendezvous. That’s where I will meet you.”

  She looked back at the cottage, sitting solitary with nothing around it. She wished that they would just set up home in there now and forget the Sanctity.